


take me to church (i’ll worship like a dog)

by a_gently_faded_rainbow



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Excessive use of italics, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Song Lyrics, fuck it god moved in me and made aziraphale a top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gently_faded_rainbow/pseuds/a_gently_faded_rainbow
Summary: short lil song fic bc i love hozier. crowley is an idiot. sex happens. have fun.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	take me to church (i’ll worship like a dog)

_If the heavens ever did speak  
[He’s] the last true mouthpiece _

Aziraphale has never faltered in his faith. It would be impossible for him to Fall, Crowley thinks. He’s so fucking certain that the Ineffable Plan is the only way. Crowley might be the angel’s only crack in that perfect certainty. This most definitely is not angelic. The sharp slap pf Aziraphale’s hips, the way he moves within Crowley. Aziraphale takes Crowley in his hand and strokes until he thinks he’s going to burst. When the angel finishes with a soft little gasp, Crowley comes undone. It’s never the sex that does it for him, though that certainly doesn’t hurt.  
No, it’s Aziraphale that sends him to Heaven and back. The little noises he makes, the times he looks at Crowley with love in his blue eyes and demands attention, never makes Crowley afraid to show himself.  
Still, there’s the ever present fear that he’ll drag Aziraphale down with him. More impossible things have happened. They’ve been doing this for so long, and nothing has happened, but if it does-Crowley doesn’t know. How can he stay? How can he keep polluting the angel?  
Aziraphale is cleaning his thighs with a warm cloth when he comes back to himself and he thinks _this, this is how and why and maybe this is everything._ The angel looks up from between his legs and it would be positively sinful if he weren’t a; so much pure good and b: looking so damn concerned.  
“Crowley?”  
Just that. Just his name, and it breaks something in him. He swallows tears back.  
“Nothing, angel. Just that hell will be calling in the morning, wanting sins and temptation and all that. I should go.”  
Aziraphale looks sad, but they’ve both gotten good at putting up walls, and his expression becomes neutral almost immediately. “See you at the next disaster Crowley,” he says too lightly.  
“See you.” He leaves without looking back. He thinks of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. This time, Aziraphale isn’t following him out of hell, and he can’t lead him there no matter how hard he tries. When the door of the little New Orleans flat closes, he chances a look. Aziraphale looks down at him. He forces himself into the Bentley, speeding away somewhere he won’t have to think.

_I’ll tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife  
Offer me that deathless death _

It’s been a century since they’ve seen each other. War ravaging the world, the Germans again somehow, and he still managed to avoid Aziraphale all that time, even when Hell made him manipulate the Japanese, even when his voice was raw from screaming and all he wanted was to fall into Aziraphale’s arms and forget the Philippines.  
Even then, he was strong. He’d let it go on too long before. He sees him once, just after the end. New York, 1948, and Aziraphale is standing at a street corner and Crowley meant to go to the banks and fool with the tellers and he turns the corner and runs instead. Maybe Aziraphale sees him and maybe not.  
He tries to forget. He meets a man named Freddie when he’s just 18, but Crowley would be too old for him no matter what. They float in and out of having an affair. Crowley cries at his funeral for far too many reasons. He’s losing himself, losing the good Aziraphale had given him.  
He sleeps for twenty years. He wakes and America is angry and scared and he thinks all the demons are there all at once. He goes, and realizes he shouldn’t have. Aziraphale is here, again, of course. He’s in Washington at a hot dog cart and this time he most definitely sees Crowley.  
The hot dog is abandoned, and Crowley knows that Aziraphale must really care. Warm arms are wrapped tightly around him before he can do anything. Aziraphale is talking so fast that Crowley can’t understand. All he feels is the soft hum of the angel’s presence, the occasional word making it through.  
“—missed you, you daft little demon. Why did you leave, Crowley? You promised, you said see you and you didn’t and I was so lonely and they just keep killing each other and _you weren’t there.”_  
Aziraphale’s voice goes hard at the end and they’re still standing in a broken city in a broken world with their arms wrapped around each other and Crowley realizes, distantly, that he’s crying. Human bodies are so fragile. No, it’s Crowley who’s fragile.  
Maybe he can blame that for the too honest words that spill out next.  
“I didn’t want you to Fall. I can’t be, Aziraphale I cannot be the reason you Fall.”  
Aziraphale’s laugh is high and broken like a crescendo, like the organ they played at Freddie’s funeral. “Crowley I would follow you down if it meant you never left like that again. Stay with me though, and I promise you I’ll stay angelic forever.”  
“I don’t know if you were ever angelic Aziraphale.”  
This time, the laugh is real, the same one that made Crowley fall in love all those millenia ago and Aziraphale is wiping tears from Crowley’s cheeks.  
“Buy me another hot dog you rascal.” 

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins  
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin _

After the end of the world, you lose a little of your fear. When you watch an 11 year old boy face Satan himself and basically tell him to fuck off, when you pull off a daring caper (Aziraphale’s term for their plan, not Crowley’s), you feel a little safer in love. Crowley still worries, so much that sometimes Aziraphale tells him to stop thinking so loud, but he’s not going to run again. He’s fought too hard for too long. He’s sentenced too many humans to damnation.  
So they buy a house by the sea, and Crowley fills it with plants and Aziraphale fills it with books and Newt and Anathema visit, after their wedding. Crowley leaves Aziraphale tea by the bed for when he wakes up, and Aziraphale keeps bringing home stray cats and dogs and it’s home.  
Crowley hasn’t had many of those. Heaven never was, and Hell was closer, but too angry. It took him too long to realize that Aziraphale is home. The two of them, and a few angry kids against the world, that’s home. 

_Take me to church  
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

Down on his knees like he’s praying, Crowley looks up and God’s face is flushed, golden hair spilling all around. Aziraphale had pulled him out of the bar and kissed him against the brick wall til he was panting and they’d barely made it home before Crowley was pawing at the angel’s zipper and falling down. Aziraphale had stammered protests, always bad at accepting gifts, but Crowley had begged, told Aziraphale it was his chance to delight in eating something for once.  
The angel’s hands are in his hair, but only lightly, and Crowley pulls away from his length for a moment. _“Use me, angel,”_ he commands, and Aziraphale listens. He pushes into Crowley’s mouth and doesn’t stop. Crowley hollows his cheeks and makes his tongue long and forked and slides it up Aziraphale’s length like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.  
Aziraphale gasps and moans and pants, sings a symphony of sin under Crowley’s ministrations. His hands tighten in Crowley’s hair and he makes to pull away, but Crowley holds his hips tight and swallows him down. Aziraphale goes weak at the knees and Crowley catches him, brings him gently to the floor. They stay, for a moment, just sitting panting.  
Aziraphale’s on him all of a sudden, straddling his hips and nipping at his neck and putting his hands anywhere he can reach. “I want to be in you, Crowley. I want to make you remember why you Fell. I want you to fucking belong to me.”  
How can Crowley fucking say no? He’s up in an instant, tossing the angel onto the bed below him and he rips the angel’s shirt off. The angel’s half hard already and Crowley grinds against him.  
“Crowley you have to-ah, fuck, fuck, don’t stop-you have to let me prep you.”  
Crowley’s too determined, doesn’t care, can’t. He makes to settle himself over the angel, and soft hands hold his hips in place.  
_“Crowley. Listen.”_  
Aziraphale flips them so Crowley is beneath and all he can see is Aziraphale and it’s all he’d ever need. Aziraphale summons lube from somewhere, coats his fingers. The way he works in Crowley, it feels like when the heavenly energy used to move in him. Better, because all the angel’s wanting is Crowley’s pleasure. Crowley’s faded somewhere outside himself, somewhere soft and lovely where he always goes when the angel’s with him.  
He barely registers the angel entering him, peppering his neck with kisses, stroking his hair. Crowley’s heartbeat falls in tempo with the rhythm Aziraphale sets and there’s nothing but the angel all round him. His hands and his mouth and his dick and if this was what religion was, Crowley would never stop praying.  
Aziraphale is so much himself even when he’s in the throes of pleasure. He sets his forehead against Crowley’s when he comes and whispers gentle praise and everything is okay for once. Everything is perfect.


End file.
